


Hieroglyphics on a Music Book

by queenbookwench



Category: The Melendy Quartet - Elizabeth Enright
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-21
Updated: 2008-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-25 05:40:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1634492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenbookwench/pseuds/queenbookwench
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mark Herron, Rush Melendy and an unexpected evening in the city. With bonus political subplot!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hieroglyphics on a Music Book

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Rush-That-Speaks

 

 

Note: I did the background research for this story through the combined means of Wikipedia and a fairly casual perusal of _New York in the Fifties_ by Dan Wakefield. All anachronisms are my own and not the fault of my lovely betas.

Mark Herron sighed just a little as his jalopy bounced over the country roads near Carthage, on his way into the city. It was the sort of late June day for which upstate New York is justly famous--sunny but not boiling hot, with a pleasant breeze in the air. Although Mark was a young man well-used to his own company, his one feeling as he hummed absently was that the day felt a bit flat without anyone to share it. 

It was a feeling that he'd gotten a little too familiar with over the last few months. He put up a good front for the others because he didn't want to seem ungrateful for the opportunity, but the truth was that he'd had a pretty rotten time his first semester of college. _If only that darned mononucleosis hadn't forced me to start a semester late..._. He felt his thoughts sliding into a well-worn groove. When he'd finally gotten to Cornell, it seemed like everyone had already formed a tight little gang, and he'd been stuck rooming with a fraternity pledge whose roommate had flunked out. Without Rush beside him to charm his way into any circle, Mark had fallen into his old shy, standoffish ways. He'd spent most of the semester studying like a madman (especially for his pre-veterinary classes), taking walks around the little town of Ithaca, and coming home to the Four-Story Mistake as often as he could for Cuffy's home cooking. He justified it on the grounds that he was still recovering, and Cuffy pretended to believe that he wasn't homesick.

 _Rush..._ He was the still point around which Mark's thoughts circled. They'd gone to boarding school together, a year after Mark had been formally adopted into the Melendy family, and had hardly spent more than a day or two apart until this fall, when Rush had gone off to Columbia while Mark was still lying in bed drinking Cuffy's tea. Rush's frequent-but-short letters--scribbled on all sorts of paper surfaces, including napkins, coffee-stained pieces of sheet music, postcards of the Empire State Building, and handbills for Broadway shows--always lifted Mark's spirits, if only for a little while. And he looked forward to the summer holiday.

Which was why the telegram he'd received during finals week had depressed him deeply, though he wouldn't for the world have let Rush know: MRS OLIPHANT GRAND STOP GOT ME A JOB STOP TIN PAN ALLEY STOP ALL OF MAY AND JUNE STOP WILL MISS YOU STOP AND THE REST OF THE GANG STOP. His own summer job helping out old Doc Wilson at the Carthage Animal Clinic suddenly seemed a lot less exciting without the prospect of Rush around. Oliver was a swell kid, and Mark was happy to share his knowledge of the best fishing and arrowhead-hunting spots, but it wasn't the same.

Now, though, his long wait was nearly over. The jalopy shot forward as he hit the gas harder without quite realizing it. Mr. Melendy (he called him Father like the others now, but old habits died hard in the privacy of his own head) had telephoned a day earlier. 

"Mark, just the person I was hoping to catch," he'd said. "I was planning to come up on the train and meet Rush in the city, then come back home together, but something's come up." His voice had sounded strained with exhaustion and overwork. 

"Will you not be able to come then, Father?" 

"I'm still coming home; I'll simply be a few days later than I'd planned. There are some loose ends that need to be tied up here in Washington. And, as it happens, I'm in need of a favor from you, Mark, though it's one that I hope you won't find too onerous."

"I'm sure I wouldn't, sir. I'd be happy to do anything."

"I know you would. Anyhow, since I can't meet Rush, I thought you might like to go down and pick him up and spend a day or two in the city. I'm relying on you to make sure he isn't taking women out at all hours of the night and pickling his liver in gin," he said wryly.

"Gee, I'd love to, but Doc..."

"Don't worry. I've already spoken to Dr. Wilson, and he'll be more than happy to give you a little time off. He says very good things about your work, by the way, which means something given what a tough old bird he is." Mark smiled again at the memory; he'd admired Doc Wilson since he'd come to treat some sick cows of Cousin Oren's, when Mark was just a small kid. Doc had been kind to him, in a gruff way, and not many people were in those days. He wrenched his mind away from thoughts of the past and chose to concentrate on the very near future instead, happily picturing long conversations with Rush and visits to places that mere tourists would never discover. 

He'd been to the city before, of course--on school trips and occasional family excursions to visit a gallery or see a show. But now he was driving there himself, in a car he'd bought with his own money, and he was sure he'd be every bit the slack-jawed upstate yokel as he took in the skyline on the way to Rush's apartment. 

When Mark finally arrived at his destination, the sun was setting over slightly dilapidated brownstones and apartment buildings, and the sidewalks were bustling with people going out for the evening. Music spilled from an open fifth story window in a nearby building, and and a homemade sign hanging out of that same window said FAREWELL PARTY HERE. Mark was studying the directions he'd scribbled down, and didn't realize until he'd climbed four flights that the apartment with the party going on was Rush's. The sound of a Duke Ellington record grew even louder, along with the low rumble of many people talking and occasional loud laughter. He stood in front of the door for a few moments, suddenly reluctant to knock or enter.

Finally he was roused by the sound of echoing feet and conversation in the hallway behind him--two fellows about his age, one wearing glasses and a beret, the other in a beige sportcoat and turtleneck. They looked precisely like beatniks, as described in Rush's letters. The glasses-wearing one grinned rather saucily at him and said, "What are you waiting for, kiddo? Someone to come along and bite you?"

"I-er-" Mark started to reply. 

"You look like you could use a drink," the fellow in the turtleneck added, and held out his flask. 

"No thanks," Mark replied, "I don't drink." 

"Geez, you must really be new to the city if you're still WCTU. Signed the pledge in high school, did you?" 

"No--I just don't." Mark was afraid that he sounded rather short, even rude, but there were things he wasn't about to explain to strangers.

"Well, it takes all kinds, I suppose. I'm Thurston Phillips and this wag is Allen Gold--come on in with us, we're going to send Melendy back to the boonies in style."

"You know Rush?" 

"Well, yeah--we met in Van Doren's Intro to Poetry and we've been fellow travelers ever since. He's a cool cat, Rush is. Knows all the best places to go hear music. How do you know him?"

"From school--we were at boarding school together." 

Mark slid through the doorway behind the doorway, and stared around the apartment for a moment--it was crammed full of people and someone had pushed some of the furniture back and a few couples were doing the Lindy Hop in extremely close quarters. He looked around for Rush, but couldn't find him anywhere. He breathed deeply and resisted the urge to walk back out the door. 

Instead, he worked his way around the edges of the room, scanning for Rush's face and listening for his voice. He finally found him leaning against the wall, talking to a tall blonde girl with impossibly long legs. Rush abruptly looked up and a smile lit up his face. "Mark! What on on earth are you doing down in the city? I thought Doc had your nose to the grindstone all summer."

"You didn't get a call from your father?" 

"Whit--that's my roommate--probably wrote it down on some piece of paper and then sketched something on it. He's a brilliant artist, but he's got less common sense than I have, which is saying something."

The blonde laughed. "For a musician, I think you're pretty darned sensible, Rush." 

"Well, you're my girl--you're supposed to appreciate my many fine qualities."

"Including your humility, of course."

"Absolutely." He turned to Mark, "I'm an idiot, I haven't introduced you--this is Helen Mills, the wittiest girl at Barnard College. We're not going steady or anything, but I'm hoping her to convince her to change that situation soon."

"Don't worry, I'll keep you appraised--keep bringing me to Van Doren's class and you might just be in." Helen added with a grin.

"I think it's rotten that Barnard girls can't take those courses. My sister Randy would throw a fit, believe me. I think she's destined to be a Smithie. Speaking of family, Helen, this is Mark--my best friend and brother, in everything but blood, and a better person than I am by far."

"Pleased to meet you," Mark replied mechanically. 

They chatted amiably for a few minutes, but everything seemed to blur around Mark. Rush hadn't mentioned Helen in his letters. 

He edged away as soon as he could, trying to look purposeful when anyone seemed about to talk to him, which is how he ended up mixing gin and tonics for various parties in the kitchen when the telephone rang. 

It seemed to go on and on and no one nearby was picking it up, so he answered before he quite realized what he was doing. "This is Rush Melendy's residence, and someone named Whit's as well--may I ask who's calling?"

The girl at the other end choked out, "Oh, Mark! I don't know _why_ you're at Rush's place, but I'm so glad you are." 

"Randy? What's the matter?" Immediately she began to sob. 

"I'm sorry, Mark, I'll give you to Mona."

"Mona? What's going on? I know Ran can be dramatic but it wouldn't be like her to phone unless it was something pretty serious." 

"Has Rush got a television? Or at least a radio? Get him for me, all right, and tell him to turn it on right away." Mona sounded a little choked up herself, and then Mark knew for sure that it was serious. 

"I'll holler for him--he's got a huge farewell party going on--but please tell me what's up first."

"It's Senator McCarthy. He's targeting Father!"

Mark grabbed the person standing next to him, not really paying attention to who it was. "You know Rush Melendy, right?" 

The kid nodded. "Go get him for me right now. Tell him he has a call and it's urgent."

Mark had such a stern look about him now that the fellow obeyed immediately. R.ush hurried over and Mark wordlessly handed the phone to him. 

Rush's face paled under his freckles while he listened. "Goddammit! What the hell kind of country is this anyhow! He bled himself dry for those bastards and now this! All right Mona, I'll get the radio."

He shouted in the general direction of his roommate, who turned the phonograph off and the radio on. 

The whole party grew much quieter as they gradually absorbed that something was wrong, and the newsman's voice filled the room. 

"This is...CBS NewsRadio with Bob Trout. Our lead story tonight is U.S. Senator Joseph McCarthy's broadening probe of the loyalties of State Department officials. Several more officials, including high-level consultant Martin Melendy, were called in to testify before the Senate in closed sessions this week. While the contents of those closed hearings are unavailable to the public, Mr. Melendy has been permitted to release the following statement, which I will read--' _I have been accused of godless Communism. As to godlessness, my faith is the faith of Thomas Jefferson, Benjamin Franklin, Ralph Waldo Emerson, and Henry David Thoreau, all great Americans who observed the workings of the Supreme Being outside the walls of churches as well as within. As to Communism, I have observed the oppression of the Soviet regime far more closely than many. I am a student of history, of culture, and of society, and when I say that we must make an attempt to understand the people of Soviet Russia and their way of life, it is not in any way out of sympathy with Stalin and his regime. Rather, it is essential to protecting and defending our country and its freedoms. I have given the best years of my life to the defense of my country, and I stand behind my words, my work, and my testimony. I sincerely hope that Senator McCarthy may say the same.'_ Eloquent words from one of the best minds of our generation, but it remains to see what the Senate will make of them. This is Bob Trout on CBS, saying goodnight."

After a moment of silence, the room erupted in raucous cheers. 

"Good old Father! That's telling them!" Rush exclaimed. But his face was still rather pale, and his hand on Mark's shoulder clenched painfully. 

Helen had made her way over to them, and she took one look at Rush's face. "Want me to kick everybody out?" He nodded. 

She put her hands to her mouth and called out, "Alright cats and kittens, we're taking this party to the White Horse. If you didn't get the point, that means clear out!"

She looked over at Rush again.

"You want me to stay?" They shared a long glance. 

"No, you go on and have a good time, alright?" She nodded, kissed him lightly on the lips, and began the slow task of ushering everybody out the door.

The sounds of revelry died away and Rush and Mark were left alone in the room, looking at each other.

Rush took a deep breath and a shudder worked its way through his whole body. Mark felt everything, everything he'd been unable to put into words, through all of the years he'd known Rush.

He leaned forward and kissed him. 

Rush was very still for a moment. "Oh," he said, " _oh_."

Mark turned and ran. 

He was out the door and down all four flights, breathing hard, before he realized he had absolutely no idea where he was going. 

Everything was over. His thoughts whirled round and round, filling him with the sick feeling of a small child on a merry-go-round that is going too fast. He would never be able to look at Rush again, never again be able to be truly a part of the Melendy family. A small stony place inside him that he had thought long dead began to grow harder and stronger. Things looked bleak indeed--and perhaps it was fortunate that Rush's apartment wasn't particularly near the river. He plunged headlong down the street, not caring where he was going. He finally ran out of steam outside a noodle shop. Though it was strange to him that he could still feel something so banal, he was actually quite hungry, and it was something to do. 

As he sipped jasmine tea and hot Chinese noodle soup, he tried very hard not to think of anything at all, to simply look and act, to live in his senses alone. The tang of lemongrass, the warmth of the tea, the cheerful voices of young Asian students in the next booth, the eddying and flowing parade of people walking past--that was all that was allowed to exist in Mark's world. 

So intent was he on oblivion that he failed to recognize one very particular pair of running feet. It wasn't until Rush came up and pounded on the restaurant's window that Mark processed what he was seeing, and then he simply froze up, unable to dismiss Rush or to invite him either. So Rush came to him, looking a bit dervish-like with his hair mussed by the wind. Without being invited, he saw down on the opposite side of Mark's booth. 

"I'm sorry, Mark. I didn't know, I really didn't. But...it makes so many things make sense, so many things that I couldn't quite fit together before. Come back with me. Please."

"As what? Your friend? Your brother? Someone you pity or are disgusted by, but can't bring yourself to kick out of the family?"

"God, Mark, no. Come back with me, and well, show me how to do it properly."

"You mean it? Really?" 

"Look at me, Mark--I'd never kid or be anything but just as serious as I am right now, when it's you. When it's your heart. I didn't know...I mean, I didn't realize...about this, but you know you're one of the most important people in the world to me, and that was as true before now as it is when I'm talking to you."

"Why didn't you tell me about Helen?" 

"It was still pretty new, and we weren't steadies or anything. Not yet."

"You seemed pretty chummy to me."

"Helen's a swell girl, but she wasn't really serious about me, not the way I wanted her to be, or thought I wanted, or thought I _ought_ to want. There are all sorts of guys out there who are just panting to take her out, so she'll be fine. I won't be breaking her heart. But I would, you know. I'd break her heart if I had to, if there wasn't any other way. Selfish of me, maybe, but then I've always said you were the better man."

Mark couldn't speak, just put his cash on the table and nodded when Rush tugged at his sleeve.

In silence, they returned to Rush's apartment and spent some time practicing kissing, and a few other things, with considerable thoroughness. 

Much later, Rush got up and sat down at the piano, motioning to Mark to come and sit beside him. He pushed and pulled and scooted a little, until Mark was pressed close against his side, resting his head on Rush's shoulder. He played all the old favorites, pieces like "Ode to Joy" that he'd known for years and years, that he'd come to love in a new way by playing them for Mark when they were just kids. Mark simply let the music wrap around him, occasionally letting out a small sigh of pure contentment. 

After Rush had played his last notes, Mark took one of his quick, long-fingered hands and held it between his own thicker palms. "I think I've wanted this since the first time I stayed over at the old Mistake, and you played the piano for me."

"I'm sorry it took me so long to catch up. But somehow I think I'll have a good long time to make it up to you."

"I'm not sure I ever would have been brave enough without..something like what happened tonight. I'm still afraid the rest of the family will hate me if they ever find out."

"They won't! Didn't you hear Father tonight--he's the most brilliant man, and he'd understand if anyone could. Cuffy might say an extra prayer for our souls at night, but she won't love us a bit the less. And I wouldn't worry about the rest of the kids--I mean, I haven't stopped being Rush, and you haven't stopped being Mark. Mona's in the theater--it isn't like any of us have never seen, well, _queers_ before."

"What do you think will happen with your father?"

"I've got no idea,but we're Melendys--we're sure to figure something out. Now let's stop worrying and get to bed--we've got to drive back upstate in the morning."

And so the boys curled up tightly together in Rush's Murphy bed--it was a bit cramped, but neither of them minded. They'd have a chance at a larger one someday.

 


End file.
